


Fundamental Law of Incompatibility

by EveningLily



Category: Nancy Drew (Video Games)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, F/M, Graphic Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningLily/pseuds/EveningLily
Summary: Mason could just imagine how Ellie had been when she was younger. She had likely always been praised for being oh-so-smart, pretty, and accomplished. All of her friends, family, and teachers had probably catered to her constantly, trying to be mindful of her every preference and sensitivity well into college. Then, when she was finally out of school and in the real world, she came across someone who was no-nonsense, logical, and blunt like any good scientist should be. All of a sudden, her majesty was all bent out of shape. Why? Because he was a big meanie-face who didn't buckle at her little Georgia princess routine? Boohoo.
Relationships: Mason Quinto/Ellie York
Kudos: 1





	Fundamental Law of Incompatibility

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had an odd trajectory leading up to this fic. I have yet to finish Midnight in Salem, and my playing of the game is going very slowly since I get really depressed each time I see how much has changed from the old games (but I'm trying to come around to it more and more), which made me want to play some of the older games that I haven't played before. The Deadly Device has been one of them. I thought it was pretty good, but had a strong urge to write some missing, very explicit, scenes  
> between Mason Quinto and Ellie York, 'cus no way those two aren't banging.
> 
> The first part of the fic takes place a little before the events of the game.

Some people did not get along, and there just wasn’t any degree of mediation that could be worked out between them. No truce to be drawn, no half-way point to be met - hell, even “agreeing to disagree” could seem like a rose-tinted fantasy when two individuals were wired so oppositely. It could be an unpleasant experience, but it was not a hard truth to accept. 

Mason Quinto had come to know this law of fundamental incompatibility fairly well, in relationships ranging from professional to intimate. It was why he prized efficiency when it came to the needlessly painful process society called “dating.” The whole “will we?” or “won’t we?” dance was so ridiculously tedious, and could also be very expensive. Worst of all, the amount of effort required to get to know another human being was often vastly disproportionate to any profound emotional or intellectual payoff. Or physical payoff, to be blunt. Not that Mason valued sex that much. Often times it was just another tedium. Bad sex. Bad conversations. Bad, overpriced food. All these things could be avoided, or at least minimized.

If the modern dating scene was already being optimized algorithmically by mobile phone apps like Tinder, wouldn’t it be that much more advantageous to carry such categorical methods over to the actual moment of face-to-face contact? Yes, he brought a clipboard on dates. He was first and foremost a task-oriented man; all that spark and fire and passion crap could come later, after the vetting phase was complete. He’d ask his questions - “What do you do and where do you see yourself in five years?”; “How many kids do you want?”; “Do you consider yourself an organized person?; “Pancakes or waffles?”; etc. - check the appropriate box, and learn real quick if the law of fundamental incompatibility applied. If you asked him, he was a genius.

If you asked his dates, he was an asshole.

“Guess Ellie owes me some Koko Kringles.”

Mason looked over his shoulder as he locked the office door. Ryan Kilpatrick was lounging against the railing, a decapitated gummy bear in hand. She looked thoroughly entertained. He rolled his eyes.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, shoving his key in his pocket and going to straighten his tie.

“I made a bet with Ellie about your, uh, _prolific_ dating life,” she replied, eyebrows raised and grinning between candy-stuffed cheeks. Mason thought she resembled a disturbing redheaded human-chipmunk chimera.

“Ryan, I know you’re attempting sarcasm, but I don’t think you understand the meaning of ‘prolific’ well enough to even use it sarcastically,” he said, brusquely zipping up his coat.

“Whatever,” she dismissed. “I’m an engineer, not a vocabularian.”

“Okay, that’s not even a word.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” she said. “Ellie bet me that you wouldn’t have another date for the rest of the year. I told her, hey, give it a month, and another girl would be charmed by your whole Sheldon-from-the-Big-Bang-Theory vibe. I mean maybe not enough for a second date, but the first one is the only thing that’s important in terms of me getting a free box of jumbo chocolate bars. It’s just too bad Ellie's not feeling well and won’t be coming into the office this evening. I was hoping I’d have a pre-dinner snack on the way home.”

Of course, Mason thought. Ellie York, despite her whole “Good Southern Girl” act, was making fun of him with the only other female colleague they had. His eye twitched at the thought of the two giggling and gossiping about him behind his back. However, as he was on a tight schedule, he tried not to let his annoyance get the better of him. 

“You must feel accomplished,” he said.

“Oh, I do,” was her insufferable reply before she bit the head off another gummy bear. “But hey, congrats. All sweet chocolatey rewards aside, I’m rooting for you. And I saw you’re not wearing your blue pullover - game changer, I-M-O. I have a feeling this date is going to be the one to really switch it up for Mason Quinto.”

He massaged his temple with a gloved forefinger. “Ryan, how do you even know I’m going on a date?”

“I mean, it’s kinda obvious, isn't it?”

Mason’s lips formed a thin line. Was he really that transparent? Oh, he didn’t even care; this whole staff could go to hell. All three of them. Four if he included the custodian who always threw away his water bottles when they were still a quarter full.

“I’m leaving,” he said before walking off.

Ryan gulped down the strawberry-lime-orange-lemon-flavored gelatinous goo. _This is gonna be good_.

\---

The mousy twenty-something across from him nibbled nervously on her complimentary bread.

He tapped his pen on the edge of the clipboard, looking at the next question on the list. “Okay, Sophie, do you consider yourself a solitary worker, or someone who greatly values intellectual collaboration?”

The young woman ate the last piece of baguette in her hand, barely chewing before swallowing hard. With her hands now empty, the poor girl resorted to pulling at the sleeve of her cable sweater. She shivered despite it being fairly warm inside the restaurant, and her teeth chattered a bit. 

Sophie was an accountant at a big firm in downtown Colorado Springs, and based on her brief, bare-facts Tinder bio, Mason thought that they might be compatible. From her profile she seemed like she would be analytical, clean-cut, and neat - all things Mason prided himself in being. Looks-wise, she was fine. She was a brunette with watery blue eyes and wore an adult retainer. Her sleeve was now dangerously close to her mouth, which Mason thought might scarf the fabric down at the same speed that the bread had been consumed.

Okay, so it’s not like she had been prom queen or anything, but Mason wasn’t too bothered with exteriors when it came to dating. 

“Umm...I like groups….but I don’t like talking that much in groups...I just kinda like being ignored while a lot of other people are around, I guess?” 

He stared blankly at her. “Okay….”

Enter awkward silence. Her hands dropped into her lap.

Mason was annoyed when he did not receive straightforward answers. The past half hour with Sophie had been a mind-numbing one. Her behavior didn’t consist with any of the predicted demos he’d played through in his head that used her as a variable, nor had they consisted with any of the general reactions he expected of his dates. Typically, a woman would either become incensed pretty quickly and curse him out (“This isn’t a job interview, dick!” was probably his favorite), or she would cooperate with a moderately agreeable attitude, somewhat seeing the logic in his forthright, albeit clinical methods.

Sophie was just...meh. She was clearly anxious at being interrogated, but she hadn’t once voiced any discomfort or questioned him back, only given strange meandering answers and avoided eye contact. The whole ordeal was becoming so pitiful that Mason decided he’d be merciful to the both of them and make this next question his last.

“Okay, so, do you prefer pancakes or waff--”

“You said you work at Technology of Tomorrow Today, correct?”

He was taken aback at being interrupted. Mason’s eyes left his clipboard. Coincidentally, the food had arrived. He had ordered the salmon, and she the chicken. Even their meals seemed so compatibly simple. Why couldn’t that compatibility translate to the conversation?

“Yes, I do,” he said, after the server had left. Sophie was looking down at her lap, her features cast in a bluish-white glow. Mason’s eyes narrowed. Was she looking at her phone? He frowned. _So unfocused._

She didn’t say anything. Mason cleared his throat and followed up on his response. “Like I said earlier, I’m the senior lab assistant there. Do you-- ”

“This is you right?” Sophie abruptly held her phone up to his face, the ultra-bright screen blinding him momentarily.

“ _Ugh_ ,” he said, closing his eyes and turning away. “What?”

“That’s your picture, right?”

He blinked a few times and looked back at the phone screen. The photo of his unimpressed mug from the company website stared back. He grimaced at the sight.

“Yes, that’s me,” he responded gruffly, cutting off a piece of salmon with his dinner knife. He really had no idea where she was going with this, but he had planned to stop asking questions at this point - might as well let her ask some now.

Sophie rescinded her arm and looked down at her phone, scrolling rapidly. _Hm_ , he thought. _She could at least pretend like she was skimming my company bio._

“And you work with her, right?” She held the phone back up to him. 

Mason froze, mid-bite. If there was one thing that could make him lose his appetite, it was seeing _her_. The heading on the page read “Research department,” and beneath it was the impeccable headshot of a certain officemate who despised him. Even the helvetica type that her name was written in seemed to radiate hostility directly at him from the small screen.

“Ellie York?” Sophie inquired when he did not respond.

“Yeah, I know her name. It’s right there on the screen,” he snapped. “And yes, I work with her. I mean, not really. We’re on opposite shifts. She uh, doesn’t like me very much.”

_Why am I oversharing?_

Sophie put down her phone and looked disappointed. “Oh.”

_Great, what now?_

“Why do you ask?” he asked, not really wanting to know but wanting to get this dinner over with as quickly as possible.

Sophie chewed on her lip, gazing pensively at her chicken, which was still untouched. 

“I just…” she said, brushing a finger against the fork on her right. “Don’t you think she’s really pretty?”

He deadpanned. “What?”

“She’s like, the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Sophie said, glancing down at Ellie’s photo in wonder. “And super smart too. It must be hard to focus knowing that she works at the same place you do. Guess that might be another reason to work opposite shifts.”

Mason wanted to flip the table over at this point. Was he not even allowed to go on a date anymore without hearing about Ellie? Could he not just eat a nice dinner - that he happens to be paying for - without thinking about her face, or how she sits in her stupidly quaint and messy cubicle across from his at night? Or how she laughs that airy girlish laugh of hers with Ryan when they’re shit-talking him behind his back? Or, how her photo, with its perfect angle and lighting, looks so much more inviting and warm than his gray and surly one?

“Sophie,” he said, vein throbbing in his head. “why are you asking me this?” 

She looked sheepish. Her extended pause made him want to follow up his question with a more aggravated “ _Well?_ ”, but luckily she spared herself from that. However, what she said next did not improve the situation any. In fact, it made everything astronomically worse.

“We went to high school together, in Georgia,” Sophie answered, a little forlornly.

“...I beg your pardon?”

“We were on the same team for Science Olympiad,” she explained further. “That’s how we became friends...or well, we were just team-friends, I guess. Not friend-friends. I mean, not that I didn’t want to be friend-friends. I-I did...she was just so popular. She was involved in a lot of other extracurriculars. Key club. Gardening club. Dance team. A lot of people knew her and wanted to be her friend...um, friend-friend. Everyone liked her. She was even prom queen our senior year...”

Words flooded out of her tiny mouth. Mason was becoming more and more confused by the second. And also very weirded out.

“Wait, okay,” he interjected. “You...you went to high school with Ellie, and now you both work here?”

“Yeah,” she said, grinning eagerly at him. “It’s such a coincidence. It’s also such a coincidence that you work with her. When we matched on Tinder, I looked you up on your company’s website, and was really surprised to see that she was your coworker…”

“Okay, that’s pretty stran--”

“I thought, how amazing is it that we both ended up in Colorado, of all places? And then...then I remembered how I wish we could’ve gotten to know each other better in high school. But now that high school’s over, and we’re all working, and we both happen to know you...I thought that you might, um, be able to reconnect us...like maybe you have her number or some—”

Mason slammed his utensils down on the table, cutting off her mindless gushing and startling nearby guests. His blood was boiling. Sophie flinched.

“All right,” he said. “I think this date is over.”

\---

Finding out that he had left his phone charger at the office after a phenomenally awful date was just the icing on the shit-cake. Mason usually didn’t mull over things, but he was so wound up from what had transpired that he kept rerunning the events in his head. He was clutching his office key so hard that his knuckles were turning white underneath his gloves, the black leather taut. Mason preyed he didn’t run into Gray Cortwright on the way back to his cubicle. That old security guard would no doubt accuse him of something completely unwarranted, which would set him off even more and things would get even shittier.

Once inside the office, he headed straight for his cubicle and tore his charger from the outlet. Mason cursed himself for being so careless. It really wasn’t like him to forget something so basic. He supposed he might have been in a hurry to get to his date, since he was always punctual. Not that his punctuality had been worth anything.

After he had asked for a take-out box and paid for dinner, Mason had stormed off without saying goodbye, bearing no desire to ever see Sophie again. He just went out to his car and sat in the driver’s seat for a good fifteen minutes, seething. Soon after that, he realized he didn’t have his charger. He was so irritated he considered just going home and spending one night with a dead phone. However, the thought of that just made him more irritated. He never unplugged. So here he was, standing in an empty office, clenching his charger and not knowing whether he was going to strangle someone with its chord, or hang himself.

Thank God Ellie wasn’t there. If she hadn’t been out sick, he really would have just gone home.

He turned to her cubicle, and saw how messy it was. His eye twitched. Marching over to her desk, Mason felt the urge to just overturn the keyboard and smash in the computer screen. He wanted to tear out the pages of the stupid novel she was reading and wreck her workspace to get her back for all those times he knew she had messed with his stuff. It was long overdue, considering how she reveled in ruining the arrangements of his paperclips and sticky notes for no reason other than to aggravate his type-A personality.

However, despite any current malicious desires, he didn’t touch a single thing on her desk. As his eyes glided from it to the floor, he noticed a picture lying next to her chair.

 _She’s so disorganized_ , he thought. Bending down, he picked up the photo and saw that it was of her. Specifically, it was of her and another person wearing nothing but skimpy bikinis on a beach. He stared at Ellie, who looked as annoyingly pert as she always did, posing with her hand on her hip, chest wrapped in a too-tight halter top and navel sporting a shiny silver stud. Her smile was the same smile she wore in her website photo, the same smile she gave everyone in the office - even _Gray_ \- but him.

He felt his anger rising again, burning in the pit of his stomach and seeping down into his loins. Sophie’s words replayed in his head once more. _She’s like, the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen…_

Okay, Ellie was hot - so what? And yeah, she was popular in high school - what grown person thought that still mattered - besides that freak he had for a date? Mason could just imagine how Ellie had been when she was younger. She had likely always been praised for being oh-so-smart, pretty, and accomplished. All of her friends, family, and teachers had probably catered to her constantly, trying to be mindful of her every preference and sensitivity well into college. Then, when she was finally out of school and in the real world, she came across someone who was no-nonsense, logical, and blunt like any good scientist should be. All of a sudden, her majesty was all bent out of shape. Why? Because he was a big meanie-face who didn't buckle at her little Georgia princess routine? Boohoo. Was he supposed to apologize for any of that? He had never done anything wrong, and it’s not like he disliked her the way she seemed to hate him. If anything, he had yielded to her petty scheduling arrangement, trying to avoid her at all costs in the hopes that her searing contempt might be lessened, and they could maybe coexist in the same workspace like two normal fucking adults. 

Yet, she still loathed him because he was the antithesis of her, as the law of fundamental incompatibility demonstrated. He wouldn’t mind just accepting that fact and getting on with his life, but talk of her could never escape him, even on a date. What were the odds that his match had been a psycho who wanted to get reacquainted with a girl she had evidently been obsessed with since high school, and wanted some random guy from Tinder to facilitate that reacquaintance? And people said _he_ wasn’t a well socially-adjusted human being...

He looked back down at the photo in his hand. _Damn._ In spite of it all, he had to agree with that nutcase. Ellie _was_ hot. That fact was easy to observe, though beauty meant very little to him most of the time. Moreover, when someone comes to despise you exponentially, their level of attractiveness became less and less relevant.

It was pointless to be this upset over someone, especially when that someone wasn’t going to change. The two of them were never going to get along, fine. Why was he still so worked up? He knew he had stayed in the office far longer than necessary, but as his eyes scanned Ellie’s exposed, honey brown skin and wind-swept curls, he felt like he needed to let out his frustration somehow. 

Yes, beauty meant very little to him, _most_ of the time....

Coincidentally, he was hard. He had been for the last five minutes. He hadn’t been hard in months.

“What am I doing?” he groaned, taking off his coat and gloves and setting them aside.

This wasn’t happening, he thought, as he unzipped his pants in the center of his coworker’s cubicle. _This is not me_ . _This is not me_.

“Fuck,” he swore outloud - something he rarely ever did - as he began to stroke himself in defeat. “This _is_ me.”

It was him, indeed - and it felt amazing. He quickened his pace, staring at the curve of her hip, around which was tied the thin string of her bikini bottom. He imagined how it might look from behind. His breathing shallowed as he imagined how soft her skin would feel to his touch, how supple and pliable her body would be underneath his, how easy it would be to bend her over her desk, or his desk.

It was then that he heard the office door open. 

“ _Shit_ ,” he swore under his breath. Mason dropped the photo immediately and began stuffing himself back into his boxer briefs as he heard footsteps approach the cubicles. Zipping up his pants and burying his charger into his back pocket, he turned around just as Ellie appeared in the entrance to the cubicle. 

“Mason?” she said, bewildered. “What on earth are you doing here this late?”

For once, he was at a loss for words. Ellie glowered at him. “And what are you doing at _my_ desk?”

 _Jerking off to a photo of you, obviously._ Mason quickly recomposed himself.

“Calm down, York,” he said. “My phone charger has been missing for the last forty-eight hours. It’s not anywhere in my apartment so I came to look for it here. I couldn’t find it in my cubicle so I was searching yours in case you stole it.”

“ _Stole?_ ” she repeated in grave offense, much to his amusement.

“Yeah,” he continued lying, looking smug. “I’m still in the process of looking for it.”

Ellie’s face reddened. “I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!”

“What an honorable declaration.”

She looked like she might jump him, and not in the way he might have wanted.

“Mason, you--I--ugh, just because you ignorantly assume that I stole something does _not_ give you the right to snoop through my things! Now get out!”

He ignored her demands and gazed back at her, unfazed. “What are you doing here, anyway? Ryan said you were sick.”

An uncomfortable pause ensued. Ellie flushed further, this time out of embarrassment.

“I--um...that’s none of your--”

“Did you lie to her?” 

“Shut up!” she snapped. “I don’t have to answer to you. You’re the one creeping around my workspace after hours! I told you to leave!”

“Fine,” Mason said nonchalantly, beginning to walk away. “But I will be filing an inquiry against you about my charger.”

He brushed past her and across to his own cubicle, coat and gloves in tow. As he went over to his desk, he heard her mutter to herself. “Douchebag.” 

“I heard that,” he said, gloves slipped back on. He put his coat on and turned around. She was glaring at him, arms crossed.

“What?” he asked.

“I can file something against you too, you know,” she said. “For invasion of work privacy.”

“By all means, please do,” he responded with a curt nod.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know.”

“Ryan texted me about your date. Bet she hated you,” she said sweetly, all good-southern-girl’s-restraint evidently now thrown out the window. “Nice tie, by the way. You look like the manager at a Target.”

He almost laughed. 

“As much as I’d like to stand here and trade barbs with you, I have to get to bed soon. I want to clock into my shift on time, unlike some people.”

“I didn’t lie about not feeling well,” she shot back. “Just not from being sick.”

“I don’t really ca--”

“But, I’m honest and dedicated enough to my work to show up even when I got the okay to take the night off. It just didn’t feel right to not come in. I’m going to tell Ryan and Niko the whole story ASAP.”

“...okay?” 

“So you don’t have to be such a massive douchebag about it.”

He sighed, exasperated. “I’m just trying to go home, Ellie.”

“Go home, then,” she said, sauntering over to his desk. “I’ll look after your things while you’re gone.”

She smiled tartly and knocked over his sticky notes.

“ _Ellie_ ,” he growled, hurriedly going to tidy them back up. “I’ve _always_ known that you were the one ruining my things.”

“Brilliant deduction Dr. Quinto,” she mocked. “You don’t have any proof though.”

“You just gave me proof.”

“And you gave me proof that you were going through my things. So we’re even.”

“Are you really that immature?”

He couldn’t place her expression. It was something between facetious and pouty. 

“Maybe,” she said, swiping his paper clips onto the floor.

“Stop,” he warned, voice dropping an octave.

“Why?” she said innocently. He watched as she took off her jacket and mittens and threw them at the skinny coat rack in the corner. He then watched, enraged, as the coat rack toppled to the ground, knocking over the trash can and its many contents.

“Whoops.” Ellie reached for his pencils. He slammed his hand down on his desk before she could touch them. She jolted and pulled her hand away, but her smile did not falter.

“I told you to stop,” Mason said darkly. 

“Make me.” 

She was standing way too close to him. The little space that remained between their bodies was almost unbearably tense. He searched her impish expression, with its full, pursed pink lips and glimmering brown eyes. He was furious, but just like always, he didn’t know how to respond or act around her. Why did she have to torment him like this?

In the midst of all his anger and confusion, Mason realized he had regained his erection. Slowly, he exhaled.

“Ellie,” he said her name, a little more calmly. “Why do you hate me so much?”

Her face softened.

“I...I don’t hate you,” she said, very clearly being judicious with her words. “I’ve never hated anyone.”

“You should really learn to tell people what you really think.”

“Not really my thing.”

“Of course, you’re too much of a nice little Christian girl from Georgia for that,” he said, more caustically than intended.

She raised a finely sculpted brow. “Seems like you hate me.”

Mason rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“It’s okay,” she said, shrugging. Ellie leaned against his desk and unravelled the floral (totally seasonally inappropriate) scarf around her neck and set it aside. He didn’t say anything, curious to see what she would do next. 

Her large chambray shirt was partially unbuttoned, and he could see her lacy peach bra peeking through. His eyes widened as she went to unbutton the rest of the shirt. “What are you doing?” he asked, getting worried.

Humming, she completely shed the oversized piece of clothing. She pulled down her black wool leggings, revealing her mismatched lime green panties with equal casualness. Mason’s mouth had gone completely dry. 

“I don’t care if you hate me or not…” she said, grabbing his tie. “...as long as you fuck me like you do.”

He nearly stopped breathing. .. _what?_ This had to be a hallucination spurred by fatigue. Never in the years that Mason had been working with Ellie had he heard her say anything even vaguely resembling a swear word, much less one in _this_ context. Trying to not fully succumb to shock, Mason swallowed hard and put his hand over hers. He attempted to reason. “Ellie, I don’t think you know what you’re saying right now.”

She snatched her hand away.

“Of _course_ I do,” she said, indignant. “I’m not just some dumb bitch from Georgia who doesn’t know how to handle her own life.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Maybe you’re just not man enough,” she said, throwing a handful of pencils at his chest. Okay, clearly not a hallucination. He gnashed his teeth together but did not react. She rolled her eyes and turned around, proceeding to press random buttons on his computer monitor and type senselessly on his keyboard, her ass centimeters away from his crotch. He watched the screen flash on, blue error message of death in view. 

“You’ve got the nerve to go through my stuff, lie to my face about looking for your charger, and say you’re filing a fucking _inquiry_ against me,” she said, “Like, who _does_ that? You must have some serious insecurities. Puss--”

She cut herself off with a yelp. Mason’s handprint faded from her right ass cheek, which was turning a stinging red. He then yanked a fistful of her kinky black hair, pulling her whole body with it before abruptly forcing her down onto his desk, pinning both her skinny wrists to her back.

Ellie sputtered. “M-Mason?”

“Quiet,” he ordered, pulling down her panties. She was already so slick, so eager. He brushed a finger against her. She quivered at the feel of cool leather. “Hey! You’re still wearing— _ugh!_ ”

“I said quiet,” he repeated, icy and authoritative, middle finger half-submerged. He then eased in his forefinger, making her gasp again and quickly bite down onto her lip to stifle any other illicit noises. With clinical precision, he administered one long stroke. Then another. His movements were measured and painfully slow - curious, exploratory. The unnaturally smooth texture of his probing digits made her feel like she was a specimen under examination. It was degrading, and she was hating herself for enjoying it as much as she was. She also hated that he knew all of this.

To her horror, he began quickening his pace, distressing the bud of her most visceral need. Ellie ached and writhed against him. Mason held her still with his other hand, the rhythm of his ministrations never wavering. Her whole body strained with alarm at the heightening level of intensity. Behind her, he was the picture of impenetrable concentration. He prodded and petted and fondled her in the dead silence of the office - fingers drenched with her rapidly building arousal - faster and faster, until...

“M-Mason, I’m--I’m--going t-to--!”

Mason jerked back just in time to see the fruits of his labor burst forth in a glorious, vulgar display. He was glad that the walls in their office were soundproof. He only wished the floor was waterproof.

Ellie remained bent over the desk, body quaking with the aftershock of such an all-consuming explosion of pleasure. 

“Look at the mess you made in my cubicle,” he chided. 

After about ten seconds, she finally pushed herself up, turning around shakily. Pink lip gloss smeared and tears running down her cheeks, she looked at him with eyes full of humiliation. 

“Anything to say for yourself?” he inquired, tapping his foot. Ellie just continued to stare, too ashamed to speak. He smirked.

“Well, at least now I can finally hear myself think,” he said, walking over to the stack of storage crates next to his desk. Rifling through the top one, he pulled out a bottle of lysol wipes and threw it at her feet.

“Be a good Christian girl and clean up your mess,” he commanded. “Or I’ll file two inquiries against you.”

She scowled. “I’m not cleaning shit.”

“Being difficult again?”

“How,” she said, eyes avoiding the repulsive scene in front of her, “could you make me do something so disgusting? Why didn’t you just fuck me?”

“Obviously I didn’t need to,” he said. “Still felt good, didn’t it?” 

She said nothing in return, since she knew the answer.

“It’s fairly easy to make any woman do that, if you know some basic human biology. Female ejaculation is a science just like any other,” he said. “You and Ryan might like to make fun of my dating life behind my back, but I do know how to make a person experience orgasm. Though, like just now, I typically have to do all the work.”

Ellie scoffed. “Excuse me? You like doing all the work.”

“Only because other people are incompetent. Now get to cleaning.”

“Hardly,” she said. “And I told you, I’m not cleaning shit.”

“You absolutely are. You can start by picking up all my paper clips and pencils.”

Ellie approached him, hands going to her bra strap. He instinctively took a step towards her, and they half-circled each other, sizing the opponent up, her coy once again and him still unimpressed. His back was to his chair when she began to ask, “Don’t you also want to...to…?”

“Want to what?” he asked, annoyed. Her bra joined the bottle of wipes on the floor. 

“You know,” she said, gesturing at the damp carpet. 

“Orgasm?” he quipped. “Jesus, just say the word. Or can you not pronounce sex related words when they’re not ‘fuck’?”

“Ugh,” she said, pushing him into the chair. “You are _such_ a douchebag.” 

He didn’t typically let the other person lead - in any situation - but he was interested by how quickly she had regained her nerve after he had put her to physical and mental disgrace. Plus, she was naked from head to toe, and her fully nude form was exponentially more magnificent than he had imagined during his spontaneous masturbation session earlier.

“I’m fairly adept at making myself orgasm as well,” he said, effortlessly keeping eye contact as she palmed her perky breasts. “I honestly prefer doing it by myself. Sex just turns into needless tedium when the other person doesn’t know what they’re doing. Which is most of the time.”

Despite his words, he took off his coat and threw it on top of her bra. 

“Hmph,” she said, “clearly you’ve only had sex with boring bitches.”

“Am I to assume you’re not the same?”

She just gave him one of her tart smiles and dropped to her knees. He watched her unzip his slacks, which did bring him a degree of relief, since he had been painfully hard for a while now. She was a little startled when she saw the sizable bulge in his boxer briefs.

“Ohhh wow,” she said, feeling him through the fabric. “Someone’s excited.” 

“I do enjoy seeing you humiliated,” he said. “But I can feel myself softening the more you talk.”

Ellie pouted. Dare he say it, she looked kind of cute. She pulled down his under-things and gasped, staring with doe eyes when he sprung out in full force. Her cartoonish expressions irritated him. She was starting to seem pornographic, though obviously much more attractive than any adult actress he'd seen. He didn’t like thinking about her like that, especially knowing how women in those videos exaggerated their enthusiasm. When porn stars ooh-ed and ah-ed on his phone screen at 2 AM, it just pissed him off and prolonged his orgasm. When Ellie expressed wonder at the sight of him...well, it also pissed him off. But for a different reason. Was she making fun of him? Or was she really impressed with his girth and just acting slutty? Either way, it was annoying. Or hot. Mason didn’t like considering that he was attracted to such low-brow behavior. He didn’t like how much he wanted to coat that stupid, pretty face of hers with a generous amount of his load. It made him feel weak and disgusting. 

_Hm_ , he thought. _Maybe she’s capable of more than I thought_.

Ellie enveloped him in her warm, wet mouth, going to work like it was her job. The way he couldn’t keep down his moan reflected that he, grudgingly, respected her skills. She used her hand as well as her tongue, the doubled efforts making his breathing shallower by the second. Licking the length of his shaft, she went to suck his tip, then went further, taking in as much of him as she could. 

“Yeah,” he said, aiding her with a push to the head. “Gag on it.” 

And gag she did, eyes still big and impossibly deep. It was astonishing in itself that she could do all that without blinking. Creepy, but astonishing. Naturally, he was even more turned on. Feeling like he might not last much longer at this rate, he reeled back, pulling himself from her luscious lips. Her eyes fluttered in confusion, stream of saliva trailing down her chin. Then, she grinned.

“So much for the other person not knowing what they’re doing,” she said, far too pleased with herself. 

“Don’t be so egotistical,” he replied. “You’re just using too much teeth.”

“Liar.”

“Ugh. Get up.”

“Why?”

“Let’s move to the couch. More space there. Unless you want to do it on the floor.”

She stood promptly, hands on her hips. “So, _now_ you wanna fuck me?”

“Keep asking dumb questions and you can just put my dick back in your mouth.”

Ellie ignored that. She looked briefly contemplative, before mounting one leg on the edge of his seat.

“Mmm...no,” she said. “I want to do it in your chair.”

“Since when were you calling the shots?” 

“Since always.” _Wrong_ . _But...fine._

Mason tried his best to look peeved. “Whatever. Okay.”

He went to undo his tie, but she held up her hand. “Stop,” she said. “Keep it on. Keep everything on. Especially the gloves.”

Was there really any type of freaky like repressed Southern Methodist freaky? Mason thought he might dedicate some time to seriously ponder the question later.

“Not very practical,” he remarked, but obeyed her wishes.

She growled. “Can you just not be you for like, ten minutes?”

“Nope,” he said. “Also, you really think I’m going to come in ten minutes? Oh ye of little faith…”

Ellie groaned. “You are so nerdy…”

“What? It’s biblical. Would you prefer I speak in middle english, since you read all those boring novels set in the freaking dark ages?”

“Not unless you want to roleplay as characters from one of those novels.”

“Ha, in your dreams,” he said. “I prefer keeping things more realistic.”

She reached down and fingered herself slightly, squeezing her breast with her other hand. “Hmm, okay, we can work with that. What about ‘nerdy lab assistant fucks slutty but intellectually superior coworker’?”

He was starting to think what he kept identifying as annoyance was turning into something that vaguely resembled affection.

“Just sit on it already.”

Ellie giggled, kneeling lower. She carefully aligned him with her sopping wet entrance, and when he finally entered her, finally felt the velvet of her insides tight and hot all around him, he really thought he might lose it. She grinded and whined against him, bouncing that bountiful ass with wild abandon. His chair squeaked chaotically beneath them, something he was vaguely conscious of despite possibly being on the verge of insanity. Ellie gasped and swore and moaned his name in her girlish voice, sounding more and more Southern with each utterance. Mason gripped her hips and slapped her ass, wanting to never do anything except continue fucking her into oblivion - until he heard a crack.

He froze. “Stop.”

“H-huh…?” Ellie’s body stilled atop his unmoving one. “What is it?”

“Get off.”

Her face was livid when Mason pushed her away. 

“What the hell is your problem?” she snapped.

“We were going to break the chair,” he said. “Now, bend over my desk.”

“You can’t just tell me--”

Mason grabbed her, whipped her around, and slammed her down into the familiar position. He then undid his tie and used it to bind her wrists behind her back. Though he was going against her earlier request, he had a hunch she wouldn’t mind too much.

“Can’t you ever just follow directions?” he sighed, running a finger along her slit.

“Mmffuuughhh…” was her eloquent response. 

“What was that?”

He thought he heard her whisper another disoriented swear. Her breath hitched. She was quiet for a second, then-- “Mm. Mason?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been a bad Ellie tonight,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I need you to punish me, daddy.”

With her curls wildly disheveled, tone sugar sweet, ass up and bent over his desk, she had never looked or sounded sexier. And, she was correct. She had acted like a hellish attention-seeking brat the entire night, and made a gigantic mess of his office space. Who was he not to oblige her request to be thoroughly punished?

“Well, you _have_ been a bad girl...”

\---

As he watched Ellie re-fasten her bra, Mason remembered Ryan’s words from late afternoon.

_“I have a feeling this date is going to be the one to really switch it up for Mason Quinto.”_

He was leaning against his desk, tie wrinkled and undone around his neck. Had his bizarre, scatterbrained coworker actually been, in a super weird, unintentional, roundabout way, right?

“Aren’t you Christian too?” asked Ellie. Her offhand question jarred him from his thoughts.

“I was raised in a Roman Catholic household,” he answered. “But I’m an atheist.”

“That checks out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She smiled gently at him, looking kind of shy. “So, uh, this was...um. Fun.”

“We don’t have to bother with any post-coital pleasantries.”

“Wow, is that a thing?” Ellie said, stepping closer to him, “If not, you should copyright that phrase.”

“Yeah…I’m leaving,” he said, going for his coat. “Or maybe I should stay since I have work in like, three hours.”

“Did you like it?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“The sex.”

Mason felt a migraine coming on. “What does it matter if I liked it?” The answer should have been obvious, anyway - and he knew that she knew. She just wanted to hear him say it, and it’d be a cold day in hell before he admitted anything like that out loud.

“I mean,” she said. “You were so smug about how incompetent your partners usually are.”

“Someone who is truly good at sex doesn’t need to ask,” he said in return. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted me to fuck you, so I did - just to keep you from tearing down my entire cubicle. Hopefully I managed to make you feel something other than burning hatred.”

“I don’t hate you, Mason.” He was avoiding those deep brown eyes. Ellie sounded sincere. He still wasn’t convinced.

“You seem to hate my office supplies, though.”

“Okay, I _was_ mad at you for looking through my stuff. And turned on by our banter way more than usual.”

“Obviously,” he said. “But to be completely honest, I wasn’t actually going through your stuff.”

“Uh, yeah, you totally were. And it wasn’t to find your phone charger either, ‘cus it’s been poking out of your back pocket this whole time.”

_Damn it._

“Come on, what were you actually looking for?” she asked, cheeky.

“Nothing,” he said, starting to sweat a little. “I wasn’t going through your stuff. I was just...looking around because I was curious.”

Ellie laughed. “Oh my god, you are such a liar. Come _on_. You can tell me. I mean, you just gave me the best sex of my life. I really don’t care anymore. What were you looking f--”

You would think she was getting used to being interrupted. It was hard, though, when each time Mason interrupted her, his manner of doing so was always more shocking than the last. There, with him clothed and her in just a mismatched bra and panties, in the middle of his cubicle where they had fucked over a stained carpet and a mess of pencils, paperclips, and trash for who knows how long, Mason Quinto kissed Ellie York right on the lips so he wouldn’t have to confess that he had previously been in her cubicle masturbating to a photo of her. 

And, maybe he also did it just because he had wanted to for a while now. _Was this that romance crap people always talked about?_

Her lips were baby soft, just like the rest of her. She smelled and tasted like him and her own sweat, but also faintly sweet? He might have just been imagining it. She barely moved at first, but eventually, her hands went to the side of his face, beginning at his jaw and then entangling in his hair.

When they broke apart, she felt dizzy. 

“Maybe...” he said, breathless and resting his forehead against hers. “...we can make this a more extended arrangement?”

“I can entertain that,” she replied primly. “But we tell no one. And keep our same shifts.”

“Obviously.”

“If anyone asks, I still hate your guts.”

“Likewise,” he said. “Now, get dressed before I bend you over my desk again.”

“Sure thing.” 

He almost wanted her to add “daddy” to that. _God, I need some sleep_.

Against his better judgement, Mason resigned to clean up the disaster that was his cubicle when he clocked in later that morning. Ellie had taken the last bus of the evening to the office, planning on working the rest of her shift - which clearly had not happened - and taking a bus home in the morning like she always did. Seeing that it was three a.m. and no buses were running, Mason offered to give her a ride home. 

“So,” he said, gazing out at the vacant expanse of highway with her in the passenger seat. “Why were you feeling bad earlier?”

Ellie looked down at her mittens. “Just...family stuff. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

A minute of silence passed before she changed the subject. “Hey, don’t let that best-sex-I’ve-ever-had-thing go to your head, all right?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Another minute passed.

“I’ve never heard you talk the way you did tonight,” he said. “You’re pretty hot when you swear and tell me you need to be punished. You’re pretty hot all the time, actually.”

She giggled. “Really?”

“Don’t let that go to _your_ head. I give a compliment maybe once a year.”

“All the more reason for it to go to my head. Also, that was like three compliments.”

“Just can’t imagine how much awful sex you must have had before me,” he said. “Guess that’s another line on my already very lengthy CV.”

“I’m really trying hard not to punch you right now.”

A smile unfurled on his face. Not a smirk or a sneer, but a genuine smile. As he took the exit to get to her place, Mason reflected on the very odd series of events that had occurred in the past six or so hours.

“Did you have a Science Olympiad team at your high school in Georgia?” he asked, seemingly out of the blue.

“Yeah,” she answered. “I was on it. Why?”

“Did you ever know a girl named Sophie who was also on the team?”

Ellie looked puzzled. “Hmm, no, don’t think so. Why are you asking me these questions, Mason?”

He pulled up in front of her apartment complex. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’ll tell you later. Get some rest.”

“Uhhh, okay,” she said, opening the door. “But you better not forget.”

“I never forget.”

She kissed him on the cheek and gathered her bags. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

After he watched to make sure she had walked into the building safely, Mason whipped out his phone and deleted Tinder. _Yikes_.

He drove back to his apartment, walked up two flights of stairs, entered his small, one-room unit, slamming the door behind him and heading straight for his bedroom. He collapsed onto his bed, completely exhausted.

He’d be driving back to the same place he had just come from in the next two hours. 

_Great._

Well, at least it was Friday. Maybe he’d text Ellie after he got off work, fundamental law of incompatibility be damned.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I do plan on writing at least one follow up installment. Comments welcome! :)


End file.
